5 Times James Bond Encountered Natasha Romanoff and One Time He Didn't
by ktwontwo
Summary: If you work the espionage game long enough you inevitably end up crossing paths multiple times with others. Five Times James Bond and Natasha Romanoff's lives intersected.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Five Times James Bond encountered Natasha Romanoff (and one time he didn't)

**Warnings/General Notes:** A Five plus one format fan fiction. Exactly what it says on the tin. Language. Cannon level violence. Un-beta'd and not Brit-picked. Author's notes will appear after the chapter.

**Parings**: None except an implied Clintasha eventually if you want to squint.

**Standard Disclaimer:** The characters belong to their respective owners. I'm just borrowing them for fun. I claim no rights. I make no profit.

* * *

**One: Bratislava, Slovakia **

Traditionally courier duty is the first job for any MI6 field agent. It starts with deliveries to Embassies, progresses to safe houses and eventually involves deliveries directly to other agents in the field. The locations likewise begin with the ludicrously easy in friendly countries where it doesn't matter if the agent is spotted to the insanely difficult where the British have no official presence and shouldn't even be there in the first place. James Bond was in the _deliver to safe houses in moderately difficult places_ phase of his training. As such he was quite careful as he exited the alley that lead to the current safe house location in Bratislava.

He was dressed as a student tourist today to better fit in with the summertime crowds. Looking around to case the street he tried to project a _I took a short cut through this alley and I don't quite know where I came out_ vibe. He thought he was doing it quite well up until the point where he locked gazes with an absolutely gorgeous girl who was restocking the fruit display at a small shop up the street. She looked to be a few inches over 5 foot, with nice curves, and long black hair. She was staring intently at him with a speculative look on her face as if she was memorizing or cataloging him. The instant she noticed him looking back she smiled a sultry smile and licked her lips. Too bad he was due back at the Embassy in less than an hour with the information he'd been given. He calculated the odds of getting away with _I had to take the long way round to avoid being spotted_ and decided that it wouldn't be worth it. Tanner the duty officer on station was way too savvy to fall for that one. Duty was a bitch of a mistress sometimes. James settled for giving the girl an answering grin and a wink. If he got a moment free in next day or two he might see if he could look her up.

That, unfortunately, was not to be. The very next day Bond found out that the safe house had been compromised. Bond's delivery run had been the last before the Russian agent who'd been being debriefed in said safe house had been assassinated along with the agents guarding him. James, since he'd been one of the last people in or out, had endured a day and a half of questioning as London attempted to figure out what exactly had gone wrong.

Bond was sure that he'd been clean both going in and coming out. In fact the only thing that had not been _by the book_ had been the long range flirtation he'd had with the fruit vender. He'd mentioned as much to Tanner when they'd been released from the incident debrief. Tanner had thought it was a good idea to have him look at the _known operatives file_ just in case which was why he had found himself looking at pictures and descriptions of female foreign operatives.

It was early evening when he found her picture. She was thinner, her hair was short and red but it was unmistakably her. Natalia Spitzlov. Former KGB operative now working for FSB/FSK. Unconfirmed association with secret Soviet spy training program code named _Red Room_. Infiltration and close in assassination specialist. Bond took a moment to memorize and link them to his memory of the fruit vendor then went to tell Tanner and start writing the report that this discovery would entail.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm planning on updating this one once a week, probably on Thursday or Friday barring unforseen intrusions of real life. If this is the first story of mine you've read you might also enjoy Brothers Three my James Bond/Sherlock crossover. If you have wandered over from the prior publication, welcome back. This one is quite a bit shorter and fluffier than the last.

I based this primarily on the movie version of the Avengers. I intentionally did not use any of the Marvel-verse pesudonyms for Black Widow. I assumed, that since Natasha changes names like most people change underwear that she had a multitude of alises that don't appear in cannon. This is not to mention the fact that Marvel has a history of rebooting its franchises periodically. Thus, its awfully hard for the average reader/viewer to determine what the heck is cannon anyway. That said, I hope you enjoy this random plot bunny that attacked me one night demanding to be written. Please read and review.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Five Times James Bond encountered Natasha Romanoff (and one time he didn't)

**Warnings/General Notes:** A Five plus one format fan fiction. Exactly what it says on the tin. Language. Cannon level violence. Un-beta'd and not Brit-picked. Author's notes will appear at the end of the chapter.

**Parings**: None except an eventual Clintasha if you squint.

**Standard Disclaimer:** The characters and settings belong to their respective owners. I'm just borrowing them for fun. I claim no rights. I make no profit.

* * *

**Two: Köln, Germany**

Bodyguard duty was usually MI5's detail but when an MP happened to be out of the country an MI6 agent was often assigned. James Bond was not supposed to be on bodyguard duty. He hadn't taken any of the advanced courses yet. He had been doing the inevitable after-mission paperwork and thus was in the wrong place (the station office) at the wrong time (when the request from the MP's wife for _someone presentable for a change_ was relayed to the station chief). That was how Mr. Bond found himself playing visible bodyguard to an MP and his wife upon their visit to the semi-professional ballet performance of Swan Lake in Köln.

It was supposed to be a completely uneventful evening. The penultimate event to a multi-country conference for various elected officials. The hall was full of self-proclaimed VIPs, the VIP's significant others (long term or just for the night) and the VIP's security details. None of the high profile potential targets at the conference were attending this particular performance so security was mainly just an ostentatious display. James felt a bit like the jewelry adorning the ladies in attendance. Just another indicator in the game of one-upmanship that seemed to take place among the lower echelon of the political elite.

The only concession to coordination of the security was a radio and earpiece issued to each security detail. When activated the radio would link to the local police who were strategically placed to swoop in and take care of the problem. It would also allow the police to alert and coordinate with every other security detail. Otherwise, each attendee's security was the responsibility of their own government. In the case of the MP and his wife that meant Bond and only Bond. This particular MP was not important enough to rate a team. Luckily the MP was high enough on the political food chain to seated in one of the many boxes in the theatre making the job quite a bit easier. He merely had to guard the door and trust that the locals had kept any potential assassins with firearms out of the audience.

Despite the best efforts of the MP's wife to flirt and distract, Bond managed to keep an eye on both the audience and the stage throughout Act I. It was in Act II that things became difficult. His eye, for some strange reason, kept being caught by one of the secondary dancers. There was something about the way she moved, the way she danced, that reminded him of someone. It was clear that she was better than the rest of the corps dancers but was doing a masterful job of _fitting in_ by introducing tiny bits of awkwardness and errors in her performance. It seemed a little bit contrived. It was almost as if she had to remember to make mistakes. By the middle of Act III he was attempting to get a good look at her face to see if by some chance he'd recognize her.

At the beginning of Act IV Bond had moved to a better spot in the box to view the stage. He was also lucky that he caught the unknown dancer looking up directly at one of the tier of boxes in which Bond and his charges were sitting. Suddenly he knew where he had seen her before. It was the girl from the fruit shop in Bratislava less than a year before, Natalia Spitzlov the Russian assassin.

Bond moved out to the hallway and used the radio. The locals were efficient and shortly thereafter let him know that they had surrounded the stage ready to grab the girl as soon as she came off. Bond watched her closely. She knew something was wrong he could tell by the change in her dancing. She was no longer making little errors because she was concentrating on something else, most likely planning an escape. Given his observations he was expecting something to happen and it did. Just after she had exited with the other dancers, the scenery backdrop suddenly fell pulling her up into the fly space of the theatre on the end of the anchor rope. Bond hoped the locals had a full cordon not only backstage but also around the block.

In the time honored tradition of the theatre the show continued, minus the proper backdrop. Occasionally, Bond would catch a glimpse of someone up in the lighting rigging as they searched for the girl. The audience was relatively unaware of the fuss but the security details were on high alert. Traffic on the radio was intense and in several languages. The locals were not having success in finding the girl. Immediately upon the conclusion of the performance the VIP's were bundled into secure vehicles whisked away back to their hotels.

The next afternoon, sitting in front a café drinking a local micro-brew, Bond found himself thinking about Ms. Spitzlov. In the process of writing his report he had looked up the most recent file and discovered that there were several more aliases listed as well as a known kill tally of five. This morning the locals had still not caught Ms. Spitzlov. The only thing they had found was her costume and point shoes abandoned in the attic of the theatre. She had made it away clean. He wondered what her assignment had been; assassination, intelligence or something else. Ah well, he'd most likely never know and he was fine with that.

He raised his glass to take a drink and his eye was caught by a good looking feminine backside walking down the street away from him. Why she happened to catch his attention he didn't quite know until she turned and looked at him over her shoulder. Natalia Spitzlov or whatever her name was now met his eyes, smiled at him and winked. Not quite sure what to do he fell back on charm. He raised his glass and glanced at the chair opposite in invitation. She looked surprised for a moment, then slightly regretful as she turned and walked on. Clearly she was declining his offer. Bond left his glass on the table with payment then started to follow. He lost her three streets down when she made her way through a crowded street market.

_Damn and blast_, Bond thought to himself,_ She's single handedly made most of the western intelligence community as well as the locals look like chumps and buried me in paperwork_. Of the two he thought, the latter was the bigger annoyance.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I oscellated about posting this as a single entry since some of the chapters are very short but I decided that it would be too unweildly as a oneshot. Please read and review. If you spot typos, grammar or punctuation problems please PM.

Edit: Thanks to Alpha-Flyer for the error catch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Five Times James Bond encountered Natasha Romanoff (and one time he didn't)

**Warnings/General Notes:** A Five plus one format fan fiction. Exactly what it says on the tin. Language. Cannon level violence. Un-beta'd and not Brit-picked. Author's notes will appear after the chapter.

**Parings**: None except an eventual Clintasha if you squint.

**Standard Disclaimer:** The characters and settings belong to their respective owners. I'm just borrowing them for fun. I claim no rights. I make no profit.

* * *

**Three: Tuscany, Italy**

The front of the villa was meant to impress Bond noted as he maneuvered the Ferrari up the long driveway. A graceful three step stair provided access to a grand carved mahogany double door flanked by black marble columns. At the foot of the stair a set of valets stood ready and waiting to whisk the guest's cars off to an unseen location so as not to mar the pristine beauty of the building's front facade. As he pulled to a stop he mentally reviewed his cover. Mr. Ian James, importer/exporter of fine comestibles as well as arms and armament on the side. Mr. James was in Italy to obtain new business from artisan producers and certain figures involved in a variety of criminal enterprises most of whom would be in attendance at this particular party.

He had been informed by his contact, in no uncertain terms, that business was not to be discussed in any way shape or form at the Capo's birthday celebration. A social event only. Bond knew differently. Wherever and whenever men of this bent were together in one place business was discussed even if only in the most veiled terms. He'd played the game before and was well acquainted with its rules. Mingle, chat, and imply that business might be done later at a more opportune time.

It was also an opportune time to complete his mission. The mission came in two parts. One was smoothing the way for additional infiltration by other MI6 agents. Second the party was also a prime opportunity to take a look at the Capo's computer. That computer allegedly contained the encoded records of the entire syndicate in Northern Italy. Copy the drive onto a USB memory stick if possible then get out clean. All in all a simple task.

Two minutes after Bond entered the ballroom of the villa and spotted the lady currently on the arm of the Capo, he knew that his mission would, in all probability, not be as easy as he had anticipated. She was blond now. Still petite and still with the dancer's lithe body and inherent grace. Natalia Spitzlov, no wait, Natalie Romanova was the most recent name listed in her file. James had made it a point to keep abreast of new developments since he had already crossed her path twice. The latest intel received indicated that she had recently ditched her Russian handlers and gone independent. That made her actions that much harder to predict and her motives harder to divine. She could even in this instance be after the same information he was. _Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, _James thought to himself as he moved to greet the Capo.

"Signore Fleciatano," Bond bowed slightly to the Capo. "Thank you for inviting me to your little celebration."

"You are most welcome Mr. James," the Capo replied. "I have found over the years that while pleasure and business do not normally mix well, pleasure before or after tends to enhance the experience of both." The Capo leered a bit at his companion who smiled somewhat vacantly up at him. "Allow me to introduce Petruska Leoniavara. She used to dance semi-professionally before I took her away from all that."

_Ah another alias to add to the file,_ James mused.

"Charmed so meet you Mr. James," Natalie extended her hand to him.

Bond accepted her hand then bowed over it and lifted it to his lips, kissing the knuckles lightly. "The pleasure is all mine Ms. Leoniavara," he murmured. James followed this up with a sidelong glance at the Capo. He made sure that the look on his face acknowledged the Capo's rights and complemented him on his fine taste in women. "I will leave you to your pleasure then," he summed up addressing both the Capo and his companion.

"Enjoy yourself Mr. James," the Capo said in gracious dismissal.

Some three hours later the party was in full swing. The liquor had been flowing freely and most of the guests would not be aware of a twenty minute or so absence of another of their number. The only people he'd have to worry about were the bodyguards and foot soldiers scattered round about the mansion. The latter were posted outside and the former were currently unoccupied as the Capo had snuck upstairs, Natalie in tow, presumably to engage in the pleasure he had alluded to earlier. If Bond was careful he could get into the office, download the files, and get out with no one being the wiser while the Capo was busy.

It was a simple matter to make his way to the first floor room that was directly under the Capo's office. There would inevitably be a bodyguard stationed in the second floor hallway near the Capo's bedroom so getting into the office that way would not be unobtrusive. Luckily the architectural ornamentation of the mansion made climbing out one window and up to the next floor balcony relatively easy. The lock pick made short work of the balcony doors and he was in the office.

Looking around Bond located the computer. It was an older model which was good. Easier for the program that Q branch had provided to hack then. He booted it up with the drive plugged into the USB port and let it do its magic. In the meantime James decided to case the room for any other interesting bits of information he could find.

He had just about made a full circumnavigation of the room when the connecting door between the Capo's bed chamber and the office started to open. Bond flattened himself against the wall and stood still. Hopefully he'd remain unnoticed. At the worst he'd be able to get the jump on the person entering. He could see in the dim light from the window Natalie standing slightly to the side of the doorway, just out of direct line of fire from where he was standing. _Interesting,_ he thought. _She knows someone is here._

She moved slightly then spoke in a low voice, "Ah, I suspected I might find you here."

He didn't bother to reply. She shifted slightly then and he could see she was now wearing all black. It looked like a form fitting set of trousers, turtleneck and her blond hair was covered by a black scarf. She didn't seem to be upset by his lack of a reply.

"I hope you have concluded your business since I have concluded mine and I estimate all hell will break loose a few minutes after I signal my success." Her English had only the faintest trace of an accent.

Bond decided to risk speaking even though it would give away his position. "You tell me this why?" he asked.

"Professional courtesy," was the quick response accompanied by the flash of a grin.

Bond had to smile in return. He quickly moved from his position until he was standing in the doorway in front of her. He reached out and said, "Well then let me give you a distinctly unprofessional _thank you._"

The kiss was spectacular and left them both breathless. The aftermath was just as interesting. At the same time Bond had maneuvered his knife from its forearm sheath to press against the back of Natalie's neck he felt the prick of the tip of a similar knife on his back just in line with his kidney. She raised her eyebrows at him in a _now what_ look. He smiled at her and dove in for another kiss. Predictably neither knife moved a millimeter.

When they came up again for air she said "You are most welcome," and removed her knife from his back.

Knowing that he wouldn't be able to take her without a fight, he returned the favor and sheathed his. "Shall we depart?"

"That would be advisable."

Bond stepped back then strode across the room to the computer and retrieved his flash drive. As he did so Natalie moved to the balcony doors, opened them and hopped onto the railing. Not a wasted bit of effort he noted. That spoke of years of training most likely commencing when she was very very young. He made a mental note to look up everything that MI6 had on the Russian Red Room program. If Natalie was one of their average trainees then the department would need to adjust and soon. By the time he made it out the doors she was already pulling herself up on the roof. She paused and looked down at him and said, "I will give you fifteen minutes," and disappeared.

Fifteen minutes was, of course, more than adequate for James to rejoin the party and make a graceful exit. As he was driving through the village he observed several dark sedans loaded with men heading in the direction of the Capo's villa. He suspected that Natalie's client was the man whom would be picking up the pieces in the wake of the Capo's murder. That, however, was a job for the analysts. His job now was to get the data back safely to London. Bond was actually looking forward to it until he realized that Natalie/Natalia/Petruska had once again managed to substantially increase his paper work load.

* * *

Author's Note: Thanks to AlphaFlyer for a typo spot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: **Five Times James Bond encountered Natasha Romanoff (and one time he didn't)

**Warnings/General Notes:** A Five plus one format fan fiction. Exactly what it says on the tin. Language. Cannon level violence. Un-beta'd and not Brit-picked. Author's notes will appear after the chapter.

**Parings**: None except an implied Clintasha eventually if you want to squint.

**Standard Disclaimer:** The characters and settings belong to their respective owners. I'm just borrowing them for fun. I claim no rights. I make no profit.

* * *

**Four: Lake Constance, Austria.**

The flight from Port Au Prince, complete with layover in Miami, had allowed Bond to sleep. He picked up a reserve car and a tux in Vienna then managed to make it to the theatre in Lake Constance just before the start of the performance. A quick look around identified his target. An opera aficionado with one of the special headsets. He followed him into the loo. The resulting fight and demise of the target was uneventful and he now had a working headset with the Quantum frequency active. Now he had to decide where to get the best view of the audience. Once he flushed the members of Quantum out he'd need a clear line of sight to get a good set of pictures. Somewhere in the fly space or rigging would be adequate.

As he paused momentarily straightening his tie and consulting his mental map of the theatre he noticed a late arrival by the door of the gentleman's loo. A perfectly proportioned redhead, hair piled high in a knot with tendrils cascading down had paused to use a nearby mirror to adjust her hair. _Gorgeous_. She looked slightly familiar then his brain kicked into gear. She had changed a bit over the years. The most obvious difference was that she appeared more relaxed, less on edge, centered even. The latest name in the file he recalled was Natasha Romanoff. There had also been a note that she was now associated with a special secret agency with the absurdly long name that was commonly referred to as SHIELD. They had acquired her services and apparently her loyalty several years ago MI6 had no information just how exactly that had happened.

She met his eyes in the mirror and nodded slightly. She turned and casually approached just as she would a stranger. When she passed him she murmured exactly loud enough for him to hear, "Imagine my surprise to find my task already complete."

"Does this mean you owe me a favor then?" Bond inquired.

She looked back over her shoulder at him and said simply, "Yes."

He watched her go and wondered if retrieving that favor would in any way compensate for the extra paperwork.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is the shortest one of the bunch.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Five Times James Bond encountered Natasha Romanoff (and one time he didn't)

**Warnings/General Notes:** A Five plus one format fan fiction. Exactly what it says on the tin. Language. Cannon level violence. Un-beta'd and not Brit-picked. Author's notes will appear after the chapter.

**Parings**: None except an implied Clintasha eventually if you want to squint.

**Standard Disclaimer:** The characters and settings belong to their respective owners. I'm just borrowing them for fun. I claim no rights. I make no profit.

* * *

**Five: London, England.**

00 agents didn't normally pull protection detail but 007 was currently on _light duty_ after the Quantum mission. That was how he found himself escorting M to a black tie gala at the American Embassy. The normal who's who of the elite and powerful were in attendance as well as a variety of governmental officials from various countries, M among them. M was not at all pleased to be here. She actively disliked the rubbing shoulders and political glad-handing that went with her position and would complain vehemently about it if given half the chance. Bond had been the recipient of a diatribe on the subject in the car on the way over. The only reason she was going to this particular _unnecessary waste of time_ was the fact that it provided the perfect cover for her to meet with the director of SHIELD one Nicholas Fury.

SHIELD personnel and MI6 agents had crossed paths several times over the last year. James' own encounter at the opera in Austria had been one of the more benign, much to the surprise of everyone who knew about it. The other contacts had been prickly at best and on at least one occasion down right disastrous. As M had remarked accommodations needed to be made otherwise agents might end up shooting each other rather than the enemy.

Bond handed M out of the car then offered his arm. They slowly made their way through the throng of politicians and other assorted self-important types. He found it surprising that only a few of the throng knew who M was and what she represented. Those who did inevitably shot an inquisitive glance in James' direction since Tanner was her usual escort at this type of function. It only took a quick glower to convince the curious that they really didn't want to inquire about the personnel change.

"Stop scaring the politicians 007," M grumbled at him under her breath. "I need them to approve the budget next month."

"Yes mum," Bond replied just as softly. "I thought the whole purpose of this exercise was the meeting with Director Fury."

"Two birds, one stone."

They had reached the grand ballroom by then and Bond quickly surveyed the room. Standing over near the staircase was the person M was here to meet. A tall black man in an eye patch, Director Fury was a rather distinctive figure even minus his trademark leather duster. What was surprising was his companion. Next to Fury's six plus feet of height, Natasha Romanoff looked positively delicate in a jade green dress. Bond guided M in the direction of the two.

"M," Fury acknowledged as soon as they were in speaking range.

M closed the rest of the distance before speaking. "Fury," was all she said while holding out her hand.

They shook hands then stood there for a moment sizing each other up. Bond had the impression that they were like two dogs meeting for the first time without a fence between them. They'd need circle around each other for a bit before deciding whether to play nice or fight.

Fury released M's hand and replied "I have taken the liberty of commandeering a room for our discussions."

"Then by all means let's make use of it."

Fury made an _after you_ gesture indicating that M should ascend the staircase. She inclined her head regally and did so. Bond and Natasha merely trailed along behind until they reached a door guarded by a square jawed U.S. Marine. The Marine opened the door as they approached and Bond could see a small windowless conference room. Fury entered but M paused on the threshold. She looked at him and held out her hand. Bond passed her the small device with a toggle switch. It was the latest Q branch prototype of a portable ECM unit. Designed and built by a young genius hacker that M had recently picked up, it was half again as small as the previous version with over ten times the battery life.

"Dismissed," M said indicating that Bond was now free to perform his secondary mission of determining exactly who was attending the party. Any intelligence tidbits he managed to pick up in the process, of course, would be a bonus.

The door closed leaving Bond, Natasha and the Marine standing in the hallway. The Marine moved to stand in front of the door, guarding it. That left the two agents staring at each other. After a moment Natasha cocked her head indicating that the next move was his. Bond, in return offered her his arm. She accepted and they proceeded to the head of the staircase.

In the short time they had been absent from the ballroom the musicians had started playing dance music. Natasha looked up at him and remarked "I suspect we have about 45 minutes before our principles are finished."

"50 at the outside," Bond agreed.

"Ah," was her understanding reply. He knew that she had determined the box was a jamming device of some sort and that it had limited battery life.

"Shall we?" he asked indicating that they should descend the stair case and join the party below.

"An admirable suggestion." From the tone of her reply and her body language she made it clear that her secondary mission was keeping close to him. Just as it was clear that she knew his secondary task was casing the party and cataloging the attendees. It was nice for a change, Bond thought, to deal openly with another professional. So much could be said without actually having to say anything.

The next 30 minutes or so were spent wandering idly from room to room discussing their favorite places of the world. Bond found that they shared an appreciation for climbable architecture, good restaurants and accommodations with high thread count sheets. Given their shared profession he really shouldn't have been surprised.

By the time they had made it back to the ballroom the band was just striking up a waltz. On a whim Bond asked, "Dance?"

Natasha smiled at him then and replied, "But of course."

Throughout the course of the waltz Bond managed to get a good look at not only the dancers but also a good portion of the other people in the room. He noticed that Natasha was doing the same. "Anyone interesting?" he asked.

"Not really," she replied. "However, there are at least 7 firearms and 3 knives in this room, not including the knife in your pocket and the Walther on your ankle."

"Or the Glock on your thigh, the throwing star in your cleavage, and your absolutely stunning bracelet?"

"Anything else?" she asked smiling.

"Oh, did I neglect to mention your sniper up on the balcony?"

"Just as I neglected to mention the 2 other SIS agents, although they are not armed."

At that juncture the band smoothly segued from the waltz into a piece of bridge music and then smoothly transitioned into, ah yes, a tango. Natasha was smiling in a slightly predatory way. He accepted her unspoken challenge and they both shifted into the proper positions. The next few minutes were intense to say the least. Someone once described a proper tango as the closest thing to having sex fully clothed and this particular one delivered on that description. By the middle of the song they had the dance floor all to themselves as the rest of the dancers realized what was going on. They moved smoothly together joined at the hips except when the dance required twirls and flourishes. Natasha was extremely graceful and made the bends and dips look effortless. As the music wound to its conclusion Natasha stiffened almost imperceptibly under his hands then indicated the direction which she wanted to go. Bond complied and caught a glimpse of M and Director Fury standing at top of the staircase. He gave Natasha a slight nod indicating that he had seen the two and they completed the tango with a flourish gathering a round of applause.

"Duty calls," Bond murmured to Natasha as he led her off the dance floor.

"And we must needs answer," she replied.

The band, at that moment, obligingly struck up another tune and the rest of the dancers resumed their pleasure. M and Fury descended the staircase and met them at its foot. M nodded slightly to Fury and started toward the exit. Bond fell in behind her leaving Natasha standing next to Director Fury.

M didn't speak until they were in the car. "What the hell was that 007?"

"Unobtrusively canvassing the ballroom while doing my part for interagency relations," he replied promptly. The look on M's face was definitely worth any reprimand and additional paperwork he might receive.

* * *

**Author's Note:** This is the scene that started this whole fiction for me. I got a tango stuck in my head and it happened.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: **Five Times James Bond encountered Natasha Romanoff (and one time he didn't)

**Warnings/General Notes:** A Five plus one format fan fiction. Exactly what it says on the tin. Language. Cannon level violence. Un-beta'd and not Brit-picked. Author's notes will appear after the chapter.

**Parings**: None except an implied Clintasha eventually if you want to squint.

**Standard Disclaimer:** The characters and settings belong to their respective owners. I'm just borrowing them for fun. I claim no rights. I make no profit.

* * *

**Five + One: Los Angeles, CA**

As far as sunsets go, this one was going to be spectacular if you went in for such things, James thought to himself as he assembled his rifle. Not only did he have a wonderful view of the Pacific Ocean but he also had a near perfect line of sight into the drug baron's mansion. Now all that remained was to wait for full dark so he could dial in on the bedroom window. It just wouldn't do to have some alert security type notice a reflection off the scope on a hillside that was supposed to be inaccessible. After that it would most likely be another long wait for the target to return from his scheduled appearance at an A-list Hollywood party.

Bond settled in for duration. There wasn't even going to be chatter over the coms to make the time pass faster on this one. The drug baron was seriously paranoid about electronic surveillance and had ECM second to none. Q had determined that not only was the ECM strong enough to mess up wireless reception for almost a klick around his compound but that it was highly likely to be able to detect any transmissions coming from that area. That meant he would be out of touch with Q branch up until the time he jogged out to the road and signaled for pickup.

The sunset had indeed been one of those picture perfect ones that the Los Angeles Visitors and Convention Bureau loved to put in their PR materials. The ocean was smooth and serene reflecting its name rather than the usual 5ft plus swells that made Southern California a surfing mecca. In fact the sea was so tranquil that Bond actually saw the legendary "green flash" just after the sun dipped below the horizon. Setting up the shot was just as perfect. Clear sight lines, far enough away to be well-nigh invisible from the patrolling guards, and a comfortable position from which to fire what more could any sniper ask for? Well, someone to watch his back but that would necessitate leaving a car parked along with the potential for it to be investigated by a member of LA's finest. Not a good idea if one wanted to leave no evidence of your movements. Ah well, no mission had everything.

By 23:00 the full moon had risen and lit the landscape and the sea with its glow. A lone car started its way up the long winding driveway to the drug baron's estate. The gentleman was making an early night of it most likely having found a willing partner at the party. Bond took his binoculars and tracked the car to the front door. The occupants alighted. Yes, it was the drug lord and a good looking female companion. He watched as they entered the house and proceeded to the living room presumably to admire the view. It was then he managed to get a good look at the girl. It was Natasha Romanoff standing next to his target looking as if she was completely enchanted by whatever it was he was telling her. A kiss ensued. Then, if Bond was reading the body language correctly, she suggested moving to the bedroom.

Several minutes later the bedroom was softly illuminated and Bond had a front row seat to watch the infamous Black Widow at work. He had to admit she was very efficient. The mark was down, interrogated and dead in less than five minutes. Amazing. That thing she did with her thighs was poetry in motion. He sighed, put down the binoculars and started disassembling his rifle. It wouldn't be needed now.

As he placed the last piece into its case he caught some movement uphill and to his right. Drawing his Walther he moved further into the shadows and waited to see if it was merely wildlife or something else. He heard a low chuckle then, "Good choice for a set up," a male voice with an American accent commented. "However I prefer a little more altitude. Better field of fire if things go wrong."

Bond couldn't see the owner of the voice but the comment combined with Natasha's presence told him exactly who he was dealing with. "Mr. Barton I presume." He lowered the Walther not quite ready to holster it but not wanting to appear adversarial.

"007," was the quick reply, "I'd heard you were in town."

"Not from the usual channels I hope." Bond didn't think his cover had been blown that easily. If it had there was someone working for SHIELD that could give Q a run for his money.

"Nah. Just plain good luck. Nat spotted you at your hotel last night."

Bond internally sighed with relief and holstered his weapon. He made a mental note to have Q hack SHIELD just in case Hawkeye was lying. "Speaking of your partner, that appeared to be a rather cursory interrogation. I hope your boss wasn't looking for substantive intelligence."

"He pissed her off."

"The boss or the target?"

"The latter."

Bond finished putting his gear in the light rucksack and shrugged it on. He could, now that he had identified just where the voice was coming from, barely see the archer standing with a rifle on his back in addition to his quiver. His trademark bow was in his hands with an arrow nocked. Bond could also tell that Hawkeye was dividing his attention. Most of it was on the mansion and his partner Natasha who was most likely in the process of extricating herself without alerting the guards the rest was tracking Bond's movements. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Give her my regards." With that, Bond strode off toward the trail that would take him to his pickup point and ultimately back to London to file the inevitable post mission report.

* * *

**Author's** **Note**: Well here we are again at the end of another bit of fan fiction. I hope that you, gentle reader, have enjoyed the ride. Next fiction in progress is a sequel to _Brothers Three_. I will also be continuing to write the short snippets to complete the _50 Reasons (Q Branch Edition)_ as they come to me.

Once again I will plagerize the words of the Bard from Midsummer Night's Dream, Act V, Scene 2:

_ If this writer has offended,_  
_Think but this and all is mended._  
_That you have but tarried here,_  
_While each chapter did appear,_  
_And these words upon this theme,_  
_Are of no import, only my dream._

It has been an honor to share my dream with you.

K2N2


End file.
